


Take it Black & Never Go Back

by misura



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - BARI Star | Harrowhark Nonagesimus Joins the Cohort, F/F, First Dates, Out of Character, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28130733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "So," said Gideon."Well," uttered Harrow, with the sinking realization that this date might turn into a total and utter disaster, actually, because Harrow was an utter and total failure as a human being who did not deserve to live or breathe the same air as someone so obviously amazing and fantastic as Gideon Nav.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Take it Black & Never Go Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nohrg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohrg/gifts).



> Out of Character: regular Harrow would never
> 
> (that's it, that's the joke this entire fic was built upon.)

Before she left her never before left home, Harrow's captain of the guard Aiglamene had attempted to sit her down for what she had referred to as 'a talk', and which Harrow had instinctively recognized as 'superfluous nonsense regarding human behavior of zero use whatsoever'.

One might have assumed Harrow regretted that hasty judgment now, and one would have been wrong. Harrow did not regret any of her past decisions. Her past decisions, after all, were what had led her to this, the most perfect of all moments, the summum of all her half-formed fantasies.

Her very first date with a live human being.

The Ninth's library might be half antiquary and half repository of ancient necromantic knowledge actually still of use; the Ninth's idea of entertainment might be an afternoon spent in prayer and an evening playing 'find the one grave in hundred containing anything of value' (grave robbery was what you called it when _other_ Houses did it) and the Ninth's idea of childhood might not have changed significantly from what it had been ten thousand years ago, but even so.

Even so, Harrow had had her comics. They had been hidden in one of the pilgrim's cells, perhaps smuggled in and forgotten, or left by someone who had found enlightenment harder to achieve than death.

Young Harrow had devoured them. She had treasured them. She had read them until they fell apart, and then she had audaciously written to the Sixth for tips on paper preservation and restoration.

Her parents would have been horrified to learn of this act of rebellion.

As it was, they were merely horrified at the arrival of the missive of one Palamedes Sextus, Warden of the Library, kindly offering to make Harrow his wife, on account of feeling she deserved to spend the rest of her life accompanied by someone capable of understanding the value of ancient necromantic tomes. (Young, Harrow might have been; a fool, she was not.)

In the ensuing conversation, Harrow had expressed a casual interest in the Cohort, which her parents had eagerly seized upon as an alternative for whatever dramatics they imagined Harrow might work herself up to when denied both her non-existent desire for a suitor and her very real (but carefully concealed) desire to Go Out and Do Heroic Shit.

A commission had been acquired; a travel set of face paints ordered, and off Harrow had gone, to fame and glory and getting dragged into cafeteria to try the coffee only to be struck dumb by running into the zenith of human perfection, the essence of joy and light and all that was good in the universe, whose name was Gideon Nav.

Reality, Harrow had decided, was way better than comics.

Also slightly more awkward, of course: experience did count for something in these matters, and Harrow possessed none. Neither skeletons nor books were in the habit of expecting her to make conversation, and the less said of the two children of the Fourth, the better.

"Hey," said she of the striking eyes, "uh, sorry, I'm not sure what to talk about with a chaplain."

"Please," Harrow said, "don't think of me as a chaplain." The praying part was easy enough; providing spiritual guidance to people Harrow neither knew nor wished to get to know had proven rather more challenging. "Underneath this paint, I'm no different from anyone else." Harrow decided to consider it a good sign that this blatant lie came out as smoothly as it did.

Gideon grinned, to show she knew perfectly well that Harrow was extremely different from anyone else, and that she rather liked it. Or so Harrow hoped with all the fervor previously reserved for prayer.

"Deal. So long as you don't think of me as a coffee adapt." Gideon winked.

According to Harrow's comics, a wink indicated either flirtatious behavior or a statement not to be taken at face value. She said, "Of course," then realized this had cut the topics of conversation she could think of based on what she had learned about Gideon thus far by approximately 150%.

"So," said Gideon.

"Well," uttered Harrow, with the sinking realization that this date might turn into a total and utter disaster, actually, because Harrow was an utter and total failure as a human being who did not deserve to live or breathe the same air as someone so obviously amazing and fantastic as Gideon Nav.

Gideon stared at the cafeteria table's surface. "Um."

Harrow wished someone, anyone were to walk in and save her. Preferably not anyone she'd meet again like, ever, and definitely, positively not the Fourth, or anyone over the rank of Lieutenant, or anyone under the rank of Captain, or anyone who'd been on a date and managed to not behave like a total weenie.

So basically the sudden appearance of an alien baby here to blow up the ship would be great, really.

Gideon cleared her throat, obviously about to say something about how Harrow seemed like a nice person, but this just wasn't going to work out, so they should break up and never see each other again.

Harrow had the horrifying realization that she stood on the brink of becoming like Ortus, doomed to spend her life a reader and writer of sad poetry, keeping a collection of perfectly good bones from being put to any actual use.

Driven by the abyss of despair that gaped at her feet she managed to say, "I don't usually date ... coffee adepts," then belatedly recalled she'd promised not to think of Gideon as such.

Gideon grinned. "Don't mind being your first, my lady. Uh, Lieutenant. Reverend?"

Harrow wanted to (casually!) say that 'my lady' would be just fine. She said, "Harrow," instead, on the basis that she should at least make a token attempt to preserve her sanity.

"Harrow," Gideon said. Her voice sounded husky.

Harrow had never had any particularly strong feelings about her name, but she realized now that it was a very good name. 'Gideon' was a better name, of course, but 'Gideon' already having been taken by one worthy of having the most perfect name in the universe, well, Harrow was a fine second-best.

With great daring, she reached out to touch Gideon's hand. A small part of her mind insisted on noticing that even Gideon's bone structure was enchanting and amazing; the larger part of her mind less concerned with bones right now pointed out this was only logical and to be expected.

"Uh. Can I ask you something?" Gideon said.

Harrow almost said, _"Anything,"_ which, in the words of the Fourth, would have been very uncool.

Then she decided to say it anyway, because being cool was way overrated.

Her reward was another one of Gideon's smile, which made Harrow die a little.

"Would you - " Gideon hesitated, then pressed on " - like to come and watch me work out?"

Harrow decided to award herself an infinite amount of pats on the shoulder for having totally nailed this date thing, because clearly this had to be the best first date in the history of ever.

"See? See? Why can't I _have biceps like that?"_ __

_ "You're being stupid. The Ninth's biceps are non-existent, and she's dating like a coffee adept. That's like better than dating a General." _

_ "Ugh. I _know_. But seriously, are they here to work out or make out?" _

_ "Dare you to go and ask them." _

_ "Dare _you_ to go and ask them." _

_ "Me? Why would I do anything like that? I don't even care. This is me, not caring." _

_ "Well, this is me not caring either. Ugh. Are they _kissing_ now?" _

**Author's Note:**

> merry Yuletide, norhg (and whoever else reads this)! I hope you enjoyed this extra treat!


End file.
